Fruitcake
by Wends
Summary: A raunchy little dive into the world of the professional pleaser. [songfic to NIN's 'Star[censored]ers Inc.' TQ, rated for language, song lyrics, detailed suggestive content]


Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. And I don't own NIN – that belongs to Trent Reznor the great, a God amongst mortal man! (bowbowbow) Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

And if I get the lyrics wrong, oh well. Andy didn't have the lyrics book in the CD case. (sulks) I just turned the music up reeeeally loud and listened carefully. (VEG) I bet my neighbors love me...

_-BEGIN FIC-_

Cheering continued erupting from the gathered crowd in the small bar, rising in volume to the point of threatening to drown out the band. Men and women alike craned their necks for better views of the performance that was taking place on stage, captivating everyone in the establishment from the surly, suspicious people who collaborated in the bar's shadowy corners to the employees who likewise stared and cheered rather than served the drinks they were carrying. All eyes were centered on the nearly fully striped individual who was strutting about the stage wearing naught but a belt and loose fitting pants.

Well, just loose fitting pants. No belt.

The young blond gyrated on stage, smiling in a very sultry fashion, his hips swinging with the music as he slowly swung his belt over his head to the rough, pounding beat of the techno-industrial band. Tossing the article to the crowd, he spun to face the felt curtain that hung behind the small stage that hugged the south wall of the smoky bar. Stepping in time with the music, he bent over the only piece of furniture on the stage -- a tall barstool -- and leaned down to touch his fingertips to the floor.

The club's patrons went wild as he waggled his hips once to free himself from the pants, leaving him in naught but a revealing black thong and proceeded to lift the hose that laid by the stool's bottom and let the water leak down his slender, nearly femenine frame as he fluttered his eyelashes and turned upon the stool. Leaning backwards over the seat, he drapped his body along it, the small of his back rested firmly upon the edge of the hardwood circle meant for his posterior. Holding the hose flush to his stomach and facing the crowd, he let the trickling water stream over his chest and down his back, to fall down his legs and drip from his toes. Lifting his finger, he slowly dragged his fingertips over his chest.

Lusty blue eyes took in the pleasure of the crowd as the club bouncers had to put their muscles to work and keep some of the more rowdy clients from climbing onto the stage after him.

Lifting his gaze, Quatre smirked even more deeply, noting the tiny, nearly invisible smile on a finely dressed gentlmen's lips who was seated by the bar. Emerald green eyes stared with absolute fascination.

Oh, yes, Trowa was VERY happy he'd decided to come that night.

_my god sits in the back of the limosine_

_my god comes in a wrapper of celephane_

_my god pouts on the cover of the magazines_

_my god's a shallow little bitch trying to make the scene_

It'd been a once in a lifetime showing. XXX films stars don't often visit this particularly wealthy area of the L3 colony cluster. And this bar is hardly ever open, as its presence is considered a slap in the face of the Barton family that owns this particular colony cluster, them being high up aristocratic noble-types and what not that are far too moral and uptight to allow strip-clubs to exist. But this was an exception; it was allowed to survive. Why? Because, being a small, shabby little hut, it wasn't something to draw enough patronage to draw royal attention. It barely drew enough patronage to stay alive.

However, proceeds from this night would support the place for the next 5 years, the rate things were going.

Trowa found his smile remaining affixed to his face - something rare indeed! He, personally, liked this place. Gave him his fill of pleasant viewing when he needed a nudie fix. Of course, no one suspected that he was heir to the Barton Foundation's wealth and power. No one knew who he was. He didn't care.

And tonight was one of those nights when he simply HAD to come.

This was the porn-star who's image plastered his walls in his private sanctuary at home. The porn-star who had assisted the sales of Easy Rider and Penthouse by appearing on their covers and being interviewed and doing photo shoots, thus enticing Trowa to spend his money on the censorable magazines.

This was his angel in leather, his devil in drag, his heaven in heels, his hell in jeans.

_i have to ride through this time if you believe the hype_

_i listened to everyone now i know that everyone was right_

_i'll be there for you as long as it works for me_

_i play a game it's called insincerity_

They'd become acquainted easily enough after the performance.

Quatre smiled as he lounged upon their bed and plucked grapes from a bowl brought to him by the servants.

Trowa could only stare at the lavish beauty that laid beside him as he popped fruit after fruit between his succulent lips.

Laying his hand upon Quatre's ass, he lounged with him, smiling as the blond turned his stare to him. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Hai," Quatre responded, smiling fondly at his uni-banged lover.

Trowa smirked slightly. "Good."

"Neh," the blond boy continued shyly... how very odd of him to be shy, Trowa found himself reflecting often, considering his profession... "I was wondering what you... intend. With this."

Arching a brow, Trowa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's no exactly proper, is it? I mean... aren't you hurting your image with your people?"

The Barton heir shrugged. "Think I care? They can talk all they want. Doesn't matter. I do what I wish."

Quatre smiled sincerely at him before laying his lips upon Trowa's in a warm, inviting kiss.

_Another glorious victory,_ Trowa thought as he wrapped his arms around his lover.

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers incorporated_

_starfuckers_

Gathering the blond to his body, Trowa inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the boy's musk combined with the jasmine-scented oils and shampoos he'd insisted the blond use. Rubbing his hands tenderly over the back of his lover, he laid down, resting Quatre atop of him.

"Pleasure me."

_i am every fucking bit and a little more_

_i sold my soul but don't you dare call me a whore_

_and when i suck you off not a drop will go to waste_

_it's really not so bad you know once you get past the taste_

_(asskisser!)_

Trowa couldn't help but moan as Quatre's pink lips surrounded his right nipple, as Quatre's wet tongue lightly touched its nib. Reaching down with long fingers, he grabbed the boy's right hand and guided it to the neglected nub upon his chest. Obediantly, the boy rubbed it, squeezing it tenderly as he began to nip with his teeth on the other.

Groaning, Trowa's head fell back onto the plush pillows that were splayed over his bed. He lifted his hands and entwined his fingers in the boy's hair, holdin his head firmly in place over his breast.

Quatre didn't resist a bit and obediently continued his play. Soon, though, his hand left Trowa's nipple.

Trowa glowered.

Quatre ignored his glower, and let his hand slowly trapse its way down his side, lightly tracing over tanned skin with the most delicate of touches. Trowa attempted not to squirm as the feather-light tingle spread over his body.

Soon, those fingers were at the waistband of Trowa's boxers and slowly pulling them down. Lifting his hips, the green-eyed boy assisted the other in removing them, then roughly pushed Quatre's face towards his groin.

This was a procedure they were both quite used to, obviously, as Quatre without hesitation took the already hardening organ into his hands and suckled the tip eagerly, his tongue tracing its rim and darting around the tiny, wet hole in its end.

Tightening his fist in Quatre's hair, smirking with pleasure as the boy refused to whimper or gasp, he slowly pushed down towards the bed, forcing the blonde's nose toward his body.

Quatre compensated easily, deep-throating the demanding heir.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Twirl. Moan. Lick.

If Trowa's stamina had been more impressive, it could have lasted forever.

Licking his lips, Quatre laid back down on his stomach beside Trowa and resumed picking at his grapes.

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers incorporated_

_starfuckers_

Next part of the routine - insert lubricated finger into tight little rear. Insert second lubricated finger into tight little rear. Attempt vainly to stretch muscles.

_all the pain_

_how did you think we'd get by without you?_

_you're so vain_

_you probably think this song is about you, don't you?_

Leaning down, Trowa kissed the nape of his lover's neck as he eased himself into his ass. Thrusting roughly, he listened with something akin to glee as the boy squealed and cried, his fingers sinking into the soft mattress below them.

The bed rocked, banging its headboard loudly into the wall.

And somewhere outside, a passing maid shook her head, deciding that this would not be the best of times to go in and dust. Turning to her fellow maid who was at her side, she shook her head. "We're going to have sheets to clean in the morning."

"Oh, again?" the other woman moaned, shaking her head.

"Yep. I take it you're getting tired of it?"

Laughing at the first woman, she shook her head. "I can't wait until he gets over this one, like he did the last, and gives us a moment's break from the laundry room."

Trowa smirked as his keen hearing caught the conversation outside even over Quatre's loud, animalistic moaning and the bed's kerthumping.

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers_

_starfuckers incorporated_

_starfuckers_

How little they knew...

They didn't know how much this particular conquest meant to him.

This was the person of his dreams. The star of his night. The prostitute he'd give his fortune for.

His mind was still reveling in his own pride and success when he came into the squealing boy below him.

_now i belong_

_i'm one of the chosen ones_

_i'm one of the beautiful ones_

Quatre laid beside Trowa a year later, a smile upon his face and a ring upon his finger.

Of course it wasn't a wedding ring. Like that would ever happen in a place as uptight as Trowa's home colony cluster of L3!

It was a sign of a promise that they'd never be apart.

He'd made Quatre his chosen one. The one he'd keep forever.

_starfuckers incorporated_

Quatre stared at Trowa as the emerald-eyed boy ogled him like a fine cut of meat on a butcher's block.

"Ahem, Trowa?" he asked, waving his hand before Trowa's face.

"..."

"Trowa?"

"..."

"TROWA!"

Trowa blinked, startled. "Na... nani?"

Quatre sighed. "Sally Po's announced that coffee and crullers are hot and ready in the cafeteria. Wanna go?"

"Um... sure."

"And Trowa?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop looking at me like that. It's unnerving."

Trowa gulped as the Sandrock pilot shot him a glare that sent shivers of Zero-system recollection down his spine.

And, watching Quatre walk away, his stance tall and purposeful and his khakis most decidedly destined to in place no matter how hard Trowa's eyes attempted to pull them down, the Heavy Arms pilot grunted something about reality being severely unfair.

Following his partner through the hallways of Peacemillion, Trowa thoroughly checked to make certain no one was watching him, then let a smug smirk flow onto his lips.

Fruitcake did interesting things to his brain.

He was suddenly wondering what kind of daydreams crullers would create.

_-end-_


End file.
